


I Lay With You

by trickybonmot



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, grammar, positive reinforcement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickybonmot/pseuds/trickybonmot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock teaches John the difference between lie and lay.  Porny sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Lay With You

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a [Russian translation of this work](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2672519), by [nightspell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nightspell/pseuds/nightspell)! How cool is that?

Excerpt from John Watson’s blog:

_There aren’t any cases on at the moment, which makes for surprisingly exciting times at 221 B. Sherlock hasn’t shot any more holes in the wall, but he still alternates between temper tantrums, nicotine cravings, and just laying around the flat in a stupor._

“John, wake up.”

John’s eyes snapped open, heart pounding as he tried to work out what was going on. He was in his bed...it was still dark. Everything seemed normal except that the consulting detective seemed to be literally _in his bed_ with him, not touching John but uncomfortably close all the same. It wasn’t _the_ weirdest thing Sherlock had done in his fit of boredom, but it was up there. John squeezed his eyes shut again and willed himself not to do anything violent.

“Sherlock. What the hell are you doing?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I was just reading your blog. Why did you say I was _laying_ around the flat?”

“Well, you have been. Did it all day today.”

“That’s not what I mean. What is it you think I was laying? Eggs?”

“Sherlock what--? Jesus, it’s got to be two in the morning, what are you talking about?”

“Lay and lie, John, is what I’m talking about. They’re two different verbs.”

“Sherlock, why are you in my bed?”

“It’s to make a point, John. I’m lying here to make a point.”

John thought he put a bit of a weird emphasis on the word _lying_ , but he found he was in no mood to try to figure out what Sherlock meant.

“Sherlock, just...go away. Let me sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Sherlock didn’t go away, but he didn’t say anything more. Minutes passed, and John’s nerves began to settle down from the initial shock of Sherlock’s ambush. He could hear Sherlock breathing. It was kind of comforting to have him there, actually. The only problem was that John’s mattress was rather cheap, and Sherlock’s weight was creating a gravity well, into which John was hard-pressed not to sink. Every time he started drifting off to sleep, his body would roll toward his flat-mate...his very weird, very brilliant, very male flat-mate. His friend, who was definitely only a friend, definitely not someone John was going to sleep with. He was so tired, though...so extremely tired...and, well. Fuck it. He slept.

When John woke up he felt warm, and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. He thought he’d been having a rather nice dream, as well, though he didn’t remember the specifics. What had woken him? 

Oh. Sherlock. John was warm and comfortable because he was pressed up against the side of Sherlock’s body, one leg thrown over Sherlock’s thighs. What had woken him was that Sherlock’s shoulder, which he was using as a pillow, had shifted. It shifted again, now, which brought John fully awake. He tensed, suddenly aware of how he was violating Sherlock’s personal space.

“Sorry,” said Sherlock. “Arm was falling asleep.”

“Sorry,” said John, pulling away. “Sorry, I didn’t, I just--”

“No, John, it’s all right.” Sherlock tightened his arm around John’s shoulders, keeping him there. “I like it. Do just move your leg, though. Bend your knees. Ah, better.”

Sherlock rearranged their legs so that their bodies latched together, his own legs bent up with John’s crooked beneath them. John complied stiffly, still not fully processing what was going on. His mind might have raced, except that he was still addled by sleep and comfort. His dick was hard; only morning wood, of course, not something he needed to grind against Sherlock’s hip. Really not. His pajama bottoms wouldn’t do much to hide it, but at least if he held still he could hope that Sherlock wouldn’t notice it.

Sherlock smelled good. Only now, with his face pressed against Sherlock’s shirt, did John realize that the distinctive smell of their home, that he liked so much, that he only noticed when he opened the door after days away, came in part from Sherlock. Not his clothes, not his belongings, but _him_ , his person, his body. Something about it made John feel warm inside. He felt himself wanting to get more of it, wanting to get Sherlock’s shirt off and let out more of the scent of his skin. His shirt...John snorted a laugh.

“What is it?” asked Sherlock.

“You’ve slept in your clothes.” 

“I didn’t want to wake you up to change.”

“Didn’t--but Sherlock, _you woke me up_. You came in to harangue me about the blog or something.”

“Oh yes. That.” Sherlock sighed, and John could feel his chest expand and sink. “Yes. It was about grammar. Lie versus lay.”

“There’s a difference?”

Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said,

“Tell me, John, how long has it been since you last got lain?” 

“You mean...laid.”

“Yes, that,” said Sherlock. “That is what I mean. How long?”

“Hmm. Nope,” said John. “Not going to have this discussion. And anyway, shouldn’t you be able to deduce the answer?”

Sherlock spoke slowly in reply, and John could feel his voice rumbling out of him, a warm purr beneath his ear. “All I am trying to deduce,” he said, “is whether your extremely persistent erection is due to your proximity to me, or whether there is some other strain at work on your libido.”

John felt himself go first white and then red as he tried to decide how to answer. At last he simply levered himself up to look Sherlock in the eye, ready to tell him to fuck off out of his bed if he was going to be that way. But Sherlock didn’t look smug, or snide, or anything like that. He looked as though he very much wanted to know.

Slowly, deliberately, John allowed his hips to grind just once against Sherlock’s body. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered in a reaction of unmistakeable desire. He looked beautiful like that. John kissed him.

Sherlock seemed to freeze for a moment, but then he met John’s kiss with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around John’s bare shoulders to pull him into deeper contact. They writhed together, Sherlock rolling onto his side so that their bodies were pressed front-to-front, legs entwined. At last John had to break the kiss, gasping for air. 

“Oh god, Sherlock. I had no idea. I want, I want--”

“Anything,” Sherlock whispered against John’s ear, sending hot currents of desire through his body.

“Here,” he pushed against Sherlock’s shoulder. “Just lay back.”

“ _Lie_ back,” said Sherlock, breathless. “Lay is transitive.” But he did lie back, and arched his hips upward as John straddled them.

“What?” Sherlock’s shirt buttons were taking all of John’s concentration.

“Transitive. I lie back, you lay me back. Requires an object.” 

“Yeah well, so do I,” said John, coming at last to the button of Sherlock’s fly, which he flipped open with practiced dexterity. He jammed his hand into Sherlock’s trousers and squeezed his straining cock though the thin fabric of his underwear. Sherlock moaned into his mouth, wordlessly, his hands coming up to stroke John’s back, then moving to grip John’s buttocks, pulling John’s hips against his own so that there was hardly enough room for John to stroke him. John pulled back.

“You. Trousers. Off.” 

Sherlock complied, but instead of lying back so that John could devour him, he sat up and tumbled John backwards. He shucked off John’s pajama bottoms with remarkable efficiency, leaving him naked, then knelt between John’s thighs. He took John’s cock in a silky grip, and John felt his eyes rolling back in his head. God, he wanted this, had wanted it for _so long_. Sherlock kissed his neck, then downward, dropping a quick kiss on the pale starburst of his scar as if to promise more attention later. He flicked his tongue over John’s nipple, but seemed to quickly deduce that this was not John’s favorite place to be touched; instead, he lavished attention on the sides of John’s ribcage, licking his serratus muscles, nipping his lats, kissing down the firm hollow of his abdomen as John writhed in sensuous pleasure. All the while Sherlock’s fingers were busy on John’s cock, teasing him, cradling his balls, promising what his mouth was about to do, if only he would kiss just a bit lower...yes...John could feel Sherlock’s breath on the tip of his cock. His prick jumped involuntarily, and Sherlock gave a low, grunting laugh, but he continued to hold back.

“Sherlock, please,” John breathed, trying in vain to thrust upward into Sherlock’s mouth.

“Just one thing first.” Sherlock pressed his fingers against John’s perineum, making him see stars. “I want you to repeat after me. ‘Sherlock lies around the flat in a stupor.’”

“Whu--?”

“Just say it, John.” Another wicked stroke to the back of his balls. John gulped and moistened his mouth.

“Sherlock lies around the flat in a--hngh--in a stupor.” While he was speaking, Sherlock took the head of his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Then he stopped.

“‘But last night he laid aside his very important experiments to lie down in my bed.’”

“But last night he laid aside his...uh...his experiments, to lie down in my bed.” Again his mimcry was rewarded with Sherlock’s profoundly skillful cocksucking. If this was what it took, he would do it, oh yes he would.

“‘And after he lay down beside me,’” Sherlock paused.

“And after he lay--really, lay? But I thought--”

“It’s the past tense of lie, John,” said Sherlock.

“But that’s so confusing--uh, oh my god” he gasped as Sherlock pressed the tip of his middle finger against John’s anus. It didn’t feel like he was going to push it inside, or was he? John’s head swam as Sherlock lightly caressed the ring of muscle, a motion lubricated by his saliva.

“‘After he lay down beside me, he started laying down some rules of grammar.’” John repeated this nonsense dutifully, as fast as he could. The combination of Sherlock’s lips, tongue and fingers threatened to undo him at any moment.

“‘But before I knew it, he had laid his heart bare and revealed his most secret desires.””

“Laid his heart...oh god, Sherlock--” John was laughing and coming at the same time, his smile breaking open on a grimace of pleasure as Sherlock’s warm mouth sealed around him and drew out the pulsing orgasm that his caressing, insistent finger seemed to be driving before it. Sherlock rode his bucking hips, letting John come right into his throat. It was intense, it was gorgeous. John didn’t want it to end, but end it did, at last, and Sherlock released him with a sucking slide that made him hiss in almost-pain.

Sherlock looked up at him, his face damp, his lips rosy, his eyes dark with desire.

“‘And that’s how I got laid by Sherlock Holmes,’” he said, “‘I haven’t lain with anyone else since, and hereby swear I never will again.’”

“Sherlock, you’re mad,” John laughed. “You are so fucking mad. Bring those cheekbones up here, would you?”

So Sherlock did, and John kissed him, and with more fumbling and less skill and much less repeat-after-me, he spent the next half hour discovering how Sherlock would most like him to return the favor. Afterward they lay tangled together with the sweat-dampened sheets, Sherlock stroking his fingers absently through John’s hair.

“It’s really quite simple,” he said. “I lie with you, I lay with you, I have lain with you. I lay you down, I laid you down, I have laid you down.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, “fuck you.”

“Well. Maybe next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Learn the difference! It could save your life! OMG I love you guys. I hope you like this in spite of the ridiculous concept.


End file.
